


Every Night My Heart Unfolding

by Tabithian



Series: Heels Turn Black [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 16:30:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5974120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabithian/pseuds/Tabithian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Coffee,” Tim mutters, shoving his empty mug more or less in Jason's direction. Pauses, fumbling for the manners instilled in him at an early age. First by his parents, then a bevy of caretakers, and  finally, the one who made it stick, made it <i>real</i>, Alfred. “Please.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Night My Heart Unfolding

**Author's Note:**

> Adapted from [this post](http://reblogkarma.tumblr.com/post/118334825869/ship-meme), because reasons.

When it comes to things like daily routines, it's not really a matter of who wakes up first, more like last person standing.

Or. 

Something like that, Tim can't think straight after running on too little sleep for so long with this latest case he's just wrapped up.

He'd gotten back to the theater apartment an hour ago, and fallen into something that may or may not have been actual sleep thirty minutes before his alarm went off.

Because.

Tim Wayne is expected at Wayne Enterprises in two hours, all neat and pressed and just so for anyone watching.

Tim Drake, on the other hand, has a kitchen full of quasi-adults dressed in ridiculous body armor and suits talking quietly over coffee. Clearly one of them must be capable of getting the coffee machine to work while Tim is struggling to remember how to be a functioning human being.

Some part of Tim is aware, vaguely, that all conversation stops when he shuffles into the room, toes curling when he hits cold linoleum. Makes his way to the counter where the mugs are kept, picks up an old favorite, rubbing his thumb over the chip on the handle like a superstition.

“Coffee,” Tim mutters, shoving his empty mug more or less in Jason's direction. Pauses, fumbling for the manners instilled in him at an early age. First by his parents, then a bevy of caretakers, and finally, the one who made it stick, made it _real_ , Alfred. “Please.”

Jason snorts, gently tugs the mug out of Tim's hands and shoves him towards Steph, who spins him over to Cass.

“No, bed,” Cass says, tone of voice leaving no room for argument as she takes him by the elbow and leads him out of the kitchen, down the hallway to his bedroom.

Tim being Tim, though, tries to protest, opens his mouth to say something, he doesn't know what, because this is Cass _determined_.

Cass places a hand over Tim's mouth, _shushes_ him.

“No, bed,” she repeats, softer, but no less firm. “Tam will handle it.”

Tim frowns, because Tam will kill him. She'll handle things at WE, and then she'll kill him. 

So much.

“Tim.”

Tim blinks, looks at Cass who looks amused, fond, _worried_

“Bed,” Cass says, and pushes, Tim stumbling back a step until the backs of his knees hit the edge of his bed, arms windmilling as he drops onto the mattress gracelessly. 

Flash of teeth in the dark, Cass' finger in the middle of his forehead and Tim's falling the rest of the way, parts of him that aren't cooing over how soft, comfortable, his bed is indignant over her treatment of him.

“Sleep, little brother,” Cass says, leaning over to maneuver Tim so he's under the blankets, head on his pillow. “ _Sleep_.”

Tim tries, he does, but his bed is warm, soft, _cozy_ , and his everything aches, head heavy.

Cass sits on the edge of Tim's bed, soft smile on her face as she cards her fingers through his hair, and Tim.

“Cheating,” Tim murmurs, faint smile on his face as he loses the battle against sleep. “Totally cheating.”

********

A few hours later Tim wanders out to the kitchen, drawn by the smell of bacon. Other things that sound like breakfast, or lunch. (Brunch?)

Jason looks up from where he's picking at the crossword, crooked smile on his face as he looks at Tim.

“Shut up,” Tim mutters, reaching up to run a hand through his hair, but it's a lost cause, really. “Just, no.”

“Love you too, you little shit,” Jason says, gestures to the microwave. “Blondie made waffles.”

Tim quirks an eyebrow, making a beeline for the coffee machine. Smiles when he sees his mug sitting next to it.

“Did she,” Tim says, sets his mug in the machine and presses a button.

Jason grumbles, mutters, “Cass made juice.”

Tim turns, rests his hip against the counter as the coffee machine gurgles.

“Did she.”

Jason huffs, picks up the newspaper and snaps it out in front of him, frown on his face like he's just oh so interested in the latest letters to “Dear Abby”.

“Don't you fucking touch the bacon you little shit, it's mine.”

Tim _hmms_ , bites back the, _is it?_ and filches a few pieces while Jason makes faces at him behind the newspaper.

********

Dick is torturing Damian with fresh air and sunshine somewhere on the manor grounds, and Alfred.

“Hey, Alfred.”

Alfred smiles, this little twitch of his mustache they all learned to read ages ago.

“Bruce still asleep?”

Alfred gives Tim a _look_ , and Tim.

Winces, because Tim learned some of his worst habits from Bruce, didn't he.

“Okay, yeah,” Tim says, gestures at the tray Alfred's putting the final touches on for Bruce. “I can take that up to him, if you want?”

Alfred _hmms_ , so amused by his charges, and inclines his head.

“If it's no trouble, that would be lovely.”

Tim smiles, slipping past Alfred to take the tray, ducks his head when he sees a second serving of bacon set aside at one corner.

********

Bruce is blinking blearily, still half-asleep.

Mostly due to the painkillers, fresh bandage on his side, bruising along his cheek.

“You're going to scare the Board, looking like that,” Tim says, nibbling at a strip of bacon. “Just saying.”

Bruce snorts, hands curling around his mug of coffee, seeking out the warmth it offers.

“Look who's talking, _Tiger_.”

Tim makes a face, because _no_ , and adds some of Bruce's bacon to his plate in retaliation for pulling Brucie out on him like this.

Bruce smiles, tries to hide it behind the rim of his mug, but Tim was Robin. _Is_ Red Robin. 

Of course he sees it.

“Hooky?” Tim asks, because his eyes feel dry, itchy, and his brain is sluggish, slow. Not where it needs to be to keep up the face of Tim Wayne for an extended period of time.

Bruce looks.

Well, he looks his age. Tired and hurting even though he's doing a fine job of hiding it. 

“Tim - “

“Hooky it is,” Tim says, stealing another piece of bacon from Bruce. “I'm so glad we agree on this, Bruce.”

Bruce.

It's a sigh, yes, but he's smiling.

“Stop stealing my bacon,” Bruce says, but doesn't try to stop Tim when he goes in for another piece, just pushes his plate closer to Tim, this _look_ on his face.

********

Dick wanders into the library Tim's working in – just because Tim's taking a day off from work doesn't mean there isn't work to be done – and stops.

Cocks his head to the side and looks at Tim for a long, long moment.

Then he cocks his head to the other side, easing his way closer to where Tim's set up on one of the couches, laptop balanced on his knees.

“Dick?”

He looks fine, for a dead man walking.

“You manage to lose Damian?”

There were threats earlier. 

So many. 

Damian's enraged bellow, Dick's delighted laughter, Titus barking and barking and barking, playful and _so happy_.

Dick shrugs, still watching Tim. 

Takes a seat on the other end of the couch and just.

Sidles closer, holding completely still when Tim looks at him straight on. Crossing distances when Tim focuses on his laptop, reaches for his coffee.

Until.

“Dick.”

Dick makes a noise, inquisitive, as his shoulder bumps against Tim's.

“ _Dick_.”

Tim grabs for his laptop, but Dick slips it out his reach and sets it carefully on the floor. Wraps an arm around Tim's shoulders and _pulls_.

And Tim.

Sighs, bone-tired, headache right behind his eyes from squinting at his laptop screen, sleep-debt far from being paid, and Dick is Dick.

“Urgh,” Tim mutters, getting a faceful of Dick's sweatshirt as he pulls Tim down for _cuddles_ , body shaking with silent laughter because Dick is a _dick_. “Really?”

Dick lets Tim up for air, pats his cheek gently.

“Really.”

********

Tim doesn't fall asleep like that, curled up against Dick. 

Warm and comfortable and _safe_ , no.

He's just.

Resting his eyes.

********

Tim hears fierce, whispered conversation, familiar snap in a familiar voice, and reaches out.

Fingers brushing against fabric, curling just so.

“Drake!”

“No,” Tim says, voice muffled, mashed as it is against Dick's side, and _pulls_.

Damian squawks, _snarls_ , but Dick's laughing, helping Tim drag him into the pile on the couch, tangled limbs and messy hair and _safe_.

There's hissing, Titus' confused whine, and Dick's voice.

“Come on, Little D, you look tired.”

More hissing, pained noise from Dick as Damian does _something_ to him, and Damian grumbling.

Shoving at Dick, at Tim, but not trying to get away, no.

“Tell no one about this,” Damian snaps, hands careful, gentle, as they skirt along Tim's side, looking for the blanket someone brought in at some point. “ _No one_.”

Tim snorts, helps Damian pull the blanket up, lips curving slightly at Dick's murmured reassurance.

Bruce and the others are going to know all about this in the morning, if not sooner, because _Dick_.

“Hush,” Dick says, laughter in his voice as he gently flicks Tim's forehead, and Tim. 

Tim wraps a careful arm around Damian, who freezes, not knowing what to do with the contact.

“I'll help you hide his body later,” Tim says. “Bonding.”

Damian snorts, tension bleeding out of him.

“You've been around Todd too much, Drake.”

Tim feels his mouth pull up into a smile, because.

No, not really.

It's cute, though, that Damian thinks that. 

Adorable.

“Later,” Tim says again, drifting off to sleep. “Promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> *hands*


End file.
